


Missing Parts and Angel Feathers

by 1DarkFlame7



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Disabled Reader, Doctor's Appointments, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Loneliness, Mercy portrayed as the bad guy, Physical Therapy, Prosthetics, Suspicion, Tags to be added, Talon - Freeform, double amputee reader, phantom pains, physical training, reader hates Mercy, waiting for lover to return
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1DarkFlame7/pseuds/1DarkFlame7
Summary: The knight in grand, shining armour who had saved you years ago was out on a mission. It was supposed to be short, but the Talon presence in the area causes it to drag on. That was unfortunate, but manageable.While Reinhardt is away, the esteemed Doctor Angela Ziegler keeps you in her office as much as possible. She wasn't merciful like her nickname suggests.Between her and Talon, you hate the doctor far more.





	Missing Parts and Angel Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: This was originally started in 2017. School and stress got the best of me, but I hope that I'll be able to finish this this year--2019.

You weren’t really sure how long he would be gone, and he wasn’t sure himself. All he had told you was that he would return in one piece.

You had scolded him for saying that. “Of course you’ll be back in one piece! If you’re not, I’ll have you stitched back together so that you’ll never hear the end of it from me!”

He laughed at your remark and kissed your cheek. “There is no doubt of my return, _meine Geliebte_. I shall come back to you with glory!”

And with that, he stepped into the ship and flew away to complete his mission.

He had been gone for five weeks now — a month and a week — so you became Dr. Ziegler’s lab rat. It happened every time Reinhardt left, and there was no avoiding it. She was so _fascinated_ with your body, it was like she couldn’t bare to leave you alone for more than a month or two. She would poke, prod, stretch, measure, and Athena knows what else. 

Why was she so interested in you?

Reinhardt found you during one of his missions, all bruised and beaten up by some stupid teenagers who couldn’t tell the difference between the hated omnics and a human with cybernetic limbs. What made it even worse was that whoever experimented on you then was _not_ a professional; there were thick scars where the metal was attached to skin, and there were scars everywhere else.

They were not gentle with you, to say the very least, and they only had a vague idea of what they were doing to you.

When Reinhardt came along, you thought you were dead, or in some sort of faerietale. His armour shone in the sunlight, and birds took flight around him (except they were crows...).

“ _Mädchen_ , what are you doing on this battlefield?” he had asked you, to which you could only reply with a whimper.

  
  


A sharp pinch to your left hand brings you back to reality.

“Sorry if this hurts, (Y/N). I need to check your reaction to pain again.”

This was more like slow torture to you.

She pokes your left hand with a needle again, and checks the holopad monitoring your vitals. She continues up your arm until she finally reaches your shoulder a minute later. The process is then repeated on your right side.

“Äh… Alright, then, that’s good enough for today,” she smiles at you, “I have finally finished prototype prosthetics custom made for your body! I’ve been working on it for months now, and I’ve been dying to see how it functions! Just wait here, (Y/N), I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

She scurries out of the lab with a childish grin on her face, and you want to throw up. It’s not like you could go anywhere. She took both of your prosthetics; your left ankle, and the right, which was from your mid-thigh and down.

How were you supposed to walk with only one knee? You didn’t have either of your ankles, for that matter, and jumping around on the stub of a limb is tiring and painful, not to mention bad for you. The only thing that would happen if you were to try to do that would be more of your leg being amputated, and you would rather die than allow Dr. Ziegler to operate on you again. Despite how she acted around her esteemed colleagues, she allowed herself to “let loose” around you. You assumed that it was because, when found, you were basically just rotting flesh stuck to scrap metal lying in a pool of drying blood in an alleyway, somehow containing a conscience.

Dr. Ziegler comes back after three minutes, a bag slung over her shoulder. 

“Here we go, (Y/N),” she says as she hands you the left ankle. “I’ll get this on you.”

You straighten your remaining knee to hold your leg out to her, and she works on attaching the ankle and foot to the metal contraption embedded in your muscles to allow for prosthetics to be changed, cleaned, and have maintenance done (it served to Dr. Ziegler’s great advantage, to your dismay). She fiddles with the wires and clasps for a few seconds and then fits all the working parts together. There is a faint click, followed by a hiss as thick steam is released from the vents.

“That looks good,” Dr. Ziegler says with satisfaction, “I shall move on to your right leg now.”

The metal of the prosthetic clinks against the side of the examination table every time you sway your leg. The doctor gives you a stern look, so you do your best to stop the nervous habit for the moment. She unfortunately had to be a little too close to your crotch for comfort.

The doctor notices your anxiety flaring up due to the blush that would appear around the edges of the scars where your legs were so graciously ripped off. She attempts to comfort you, saying, “Don’t worry, (Y/N), I’m not going to do anything there,” with light laughter.

Her remarks doesn’t really do anything except make you a little embarrassed. Sometimes you thought that she could read your mind, but she would just dismiss you with some stupid “medical explanation” for how she knew.

“Mmm, I think that should be good,” (you let out a sigh of relief at that), “so stand up for me and try to take a few steps.”

Once that side is fastened and the steam hisses out, you hesitantly wiggle your toes to test the waters. Nothing seems to go wrong, so you roll your ankles as slowly as you can, then speed up, then go in the opposite direction. You look up to your doctor as you attempt to bend your new knee, which, to your surprise, lifts with ease.

Your eyes widen, and Dr. Ziegler’s face lights up with glee (to you, it’s more like _malicious_ glee). “ _Verdammt_ , (Y/N), stand up! I’ve waited for so long to see these in action! Come on, then!”

With clenched teeth, you put your hands behind you and inch yourself off the table and onto the floor. A loud gasp comes from in front of you, and you open your eyes in confusion, not realising that you had closed them in the first place.

For the first time in a week, you speak. “What is it, Dr. Ziegler?”

“You– you are _standing_ , _on your own_!”

You look down at your new feet keeping you stable.

“Oh my god.”

 _Is this really happening?_ you ask yourself. _I remember how to walk, since I’ve been using the basic prosthetics, so maybe I can go to a comm-station and call_ mein Liebling _to surprise him—_

“Don’t be so quick to try and do things on your own, (Y/N),” she laughs, “You need time to adjust, and I need to do more tests now that I know you can stand with these.”

_But—but—_

“ _Mein Gott_ , (Y/N), it seems that I lost track of the time while making sure that everything went well. I apologise. You need your rest; tomorrow is a big day!”

Dr. Ziegler approaches you again and goes to take your marvelous new limbs off. 

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask, concern written across your face.

“Well,” she looks up at you momentarily as she kneels and begins to take your prosthetic ankle off, “you can’t sleep with these on. You still need time to adjust to them, but you can’t start just yet. I will wake you up tomorrow and put your new limbs on, and your adjustment period will start then.”

Your shoulders fall as her words sink in. “Oh.”

She exits the room momentarily and returns with a wheelchair in tow. “Now then, let me help you.”

Dr. Ziegler picks you up with one arm under your back and the other in the crook of your left leg, the stump of your right hanging in open air. She then sits you in the stiff, blue seat and wheels you out of the medbay and into your room—the room you share with Reinhardt, your darling, your _Liebling_.

Sorrow blossoms in your chest and a cold washes over your body as you gaze at all the pictures of the times you and he shared so long ago. His work left so little time for you to spend together, plus the part where all your previous prosthetics had been a little too heavy, and so they pulled your skin and muscle every time you would go to take a step. It was quite painful, but your knight was more than willing to carry you anywhere you wanted to go.

Dr. Ziegler walks around to face you, and she leans forwards with her hands just over her knees as if she was talking to a child instead of a double amputee.

“Can you take care of yourself for the rest of the night?” she asks.

The glower on your face only makes her laugh and say, “Okay then, (Y/N), I’ll leave you by yourself then. I’ll come and wake you up at around seven-thirty tomorrow morning. How does that sound?” Your expression never changes, so she laughs again. “ _Gute Nacht_ , (Y/N). See you in the morning.”

And with that, she takes her leave.

You let out a hefty sigh and wheel yourself over to the long dresser and open one of Reinhardt’s t-shirt drawers and grab a shirt. It still smells like him; his favourite beer and musk.

It takes a few minutes for you to get out of your clothes and put a clean set of underwear on, but you manage, and slip on the t-shirt, which is more like a t-shirt _dress_ on you. You then wheel yourself into the handicap-friendly bathroom and get your final things done before climbing into the shared king bed.

Curling up as best as you can with one knee and a thick stump for the other leg, sleeping was very uncomfortable and lonely. He couldn’t call you (or vice-versa) because they were on lockdown due to suspicious activity in the area that pointed right to Talon. Him being discovered would only end up with him and his entire team dead, so you refrained from secretly calling him in the dead of night.

“ _Mein Liebling_ ,” you cry out, not really caring if anyone heard you, “make the pain go away please!”

Phantom pains.

Oh, how you loathe them.

They only really went away when Reinhardt was near, but since he was gone, you were at the mercy of your brain and spinal cord. The thing is, you didn’t really get any mercy; neither your body nor Dr. Ziegler offered that much.

You sigh and rub the stump of what remains of your right leg. If anything, it only makes the pain worse, and you begin to dissociate from the feeling.


End file.
